The crowd sat in rows, shrouded in black; moist tissues stuffed in their pockets. My daughter’s mascara-streaked face spoke volumes. I reached for her hand, but as my grasp slipped through the air I realized that I could no longer console her.

I want to title this story. How about “The Streaked Soul”? I think, in addition to anecdotes, I should start writing micro-prose. You used the punctuations very professionally which kept me connected to the scene. It can be a full story; you can write it.